Try Darkness (21 page)

“I did.”

“Then do me a favor. Question folks. Casual. See if they saw anyone come in or go out with a Rasta hat on. Would you consider doing that for me?”

He smiled and tossed the paper aside. “I been looking for something to do besides this Sudoku, which is from the pit of hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Good to be back in the saddle.”

93

I DROVE TO
Inglewood and talked to James Kingman’s brother, Silas. He was a teacher at Inglewood High, history. I met him at the school, where he was expecting me. He had a fifty-minute break. We sat in his room and, with Washington and Jefferson and Lincoln looking down from posters, I grilled him.

I had to grill him. I had to ask him about the times he was with James and the other people who could provide that information.

The nice part was that Silas would make a very credible witness for his brother. The not so nice part was that might not be enough. James spent Wednesday night at his brother’s house. There were witnesses to that. But on Thursday Silas was teaching. There was a long stretch James would have to account for.

I didn’t think James killed Avisha. But I had to get some good alibi evidence together.

That or find the real killer. Because my thought, the one that wouldn’t go away, was that the killings were related.

Reatta. Avisha. Same guy maybe did both.

94

AMONG THE THINGS
I care least about in this world are the travails of Britney Spears, sumo wrestling, and being seen in the hottest clubs in L.A.

If NASA engineers could design the greatest waste of human time and energy, it would be a lot like trying to look cool enough to be seen as not trying to look cool.

Even though here it becomes a battle of hip, and there’s nothing sadder than being an unhip hipster in L.A. Sort of like showing up at the prom with an unzipped fly you never notice.

So people stress over the hippest clubs to go to.

Sunset Strip used to be hip but has fallen on hard times. It’s “maturing,” some say, which, to hip, means death. Now Hollywood is giving the Strip a run. The dive bars have been cleaned up and the architecture is cooler, so it’s getting a younger crowd these days.

On the Strip, even thrash metal venues get the yuppies in button-down shirts, which the rockers deplore. They migrate east to avoid yuppie cooties.

They go over to Hollywood, join a crowd that considers itself more authentic, outfitted in true rock-punk-hip-hop-new-wave-techno-glam style. Avoiding the open fly at all costs, for to lose an ounce of hipness here is to die a little.

Todd McLarty, Sister Mary managed to find out, preferred the Cahuenga corridor to the Strip, even though he was now pushing forty. Going Hollywood was a way to keep the edge for him, I guess.

And his favorite hangout was the Ninth Circle, just off the boulevard.

So that’s where I went, fighting the crush of cars and getting into a parking lot near Franklin. Clubbers everywhere. All trying hard to look as if they know what’s going on.

The line was long, but I wasn’t going to wait regardless. I went to the velvet rope where a wrestler with a dome for a head stood with his earpiece and look of practiced venom.

He gave me withering look #4.

“That’s good,” I said.

“What is?” Withering voice #3a.

“You. You’re good at your job. Ben and I need to see a guy.”

“I need to see Ben.”

I gave him the hundred. He asked me to open my coat. Looked me over and then let me into the Ninth Circle.

95

THE BEAT WAS
fully amped. There was dancing and grinding and the smell of the hormonal. Booths lined two walls, lit in low copper color. I went to the bar and squeezed between two stools and ordered a Coke. I wasn’t here to party or loosen up or get warm.

The first sip didn’t make my lips. It made the front of my shirt. A woman on my left had snorted a laugh and reared back, hitting my elbow.

To her credit, she immediately turned around and, with the laugh still passing from her face, said, “Sorry!”

“Must have been a good one,” I said.

“What was?”

“The joke.”

“Oh that.” If she was twenty-one, it was barely. She had short dark hair and olive skin. “We were just talking about that vid on YouTube, the CEO who dropped his pants during the board meeting. Seen it?”

“Darn, I missed that one.”

“Oh, it is out there.”

“Note to self.”

“You’ll love it,” she said. “So what do you do?”

“I’m a weaver of dreams.”

“Huh?”

“Lawyer.”

“Cool.”

“Sometimes.”

“When is it not cool?” She leaned her head in her hand and put her elbow on the bar top.

“Well, you know what a lawsuit is, right?”

“Sure.”

“It’s where you go in a pig and come out a sausage.”

She stared at me. “Really?” It sounded like “Rilly.”

“Metaphorically.”

“You talk funny.”

“I’ve been told.”

“I want to go to law school someday.”

“Rilly?” I said.

She nodded.

“That’s one thing this society needs,” I said. “More lawyers. You can never have too many lawyers.”

“How do you do it? How do you get to be a lawyer?”

“Well, first you have to go to law school. Have you graduated yet?”

“Yeah. Three years ago.”

“Pretty young for college, weren’t you?”

“High school.”

“Ah. Where are you doing your undergrad?”

“You mean college?”

“That’s what I mean.”

“I have to go to college first?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Rilly?”

“Rilly.”

“That is not fair.”

I took a sip of Coke and considered my answer carefully. I am a weaver of dreams. “You’ll make a good lawyer someday.”

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Buchanan. What’s yours?”

“Nora.” She stuck her hand out. I shook it.

“You know this place pretty well?” I said.

“I come here all the time.”

“You ever see Todd McLarty here?”

“Oh yeah. And Heather and Brit and Brad and everybody.”

“Let me buy you a drink,” I said. “While I wait.”

“Are you Todd’s lawyer?”

“Not yet, but who knows?”

“You’re the leaver of dreams,” she said.

That seemed to be a better fit, so I let it stand.

96

I BOUGHT NORA
a martini and she made me talk about being a lawyer, which I can do even without alcohol. Five minutes after that she looked at the door and said, “There he is.”

McLarty was with his retinue—a blond mannequin model type hanging on to him, almost wearing a tight black dress. Another couple of the same ilk was with them, laughing it up as they got shown to a booth.

A large African-American male with a proportionally large head full of hair, dressed all in black, stood near the booth, scanning the crowd. I watched him for a minute. A couple of giggling young ladies scurried up to the booth and the large man put up his hand. It was the size of a canned ham. He talked to them and they looked like they were pleading. He shook his head and talked a little more and the ladies hung their heads and walked away.

“He’s always got the big guy with him,” Nora said. “You never know.”

“I left my bodyguard at home,” I said.

“You have a bodyguard?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“You’re funny. What’s he look like, your bodyguard?”

“She. A nun.”

“Now you’re just playing me.”

“Only a little,” I said. “I think this nun can take care of herself. I play basketball with her.”

At McLarty’s table a server came by with a silver bucket and champagne. McLarty started on the cork.

“Nice meeting you, Nora,” I said.

She slipped me a card. “Call me.”

That hadn’t happened in a while. I tucked the card in my pocket and made my way across the dance floor and up to the large man with the hair. I nodded at him. He glared at me. I handed him my card. He looked at it, handed it back. Said nothing.

“I need to talk to him,” I said. Shouted actually.

The man shook his head.

“He’ll want to talk to me.”

Shook his head again.

“Let’s ask him,” I said. I didn’t even get a full step in before the big hand thumped my chest and pushed me backward.

“Let the man have a good time,” he said.

“I have some news. Very important to him. Tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“Just say Tawni.”

He pulled back and looked at me without comprehension.

“Tawni,” I repeated. “Go ahead.”

“What’s Tawni?”

“He’ll know.”

Behind the guy I could see the champagne being poured. It was Cristal.

The big man shook his head again. He was really good at that.

“Trust me,” I said. “He will want to know.”

The guy turned around and gestured at McLarty. Then he leaned over and talked into his ear. As he did, McLarty looked at me. He did not look happy. He said something to his bodyguard. The guy turned back to me and said, “Let’s go outside.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“You can talk out there.”

“You can break my fingers out there.”

Then he smiled and nodded. He could nod, too. “Not gonna, though. He’ll talk to you out there.”

McLarty downed his champagne in a big gulp and started talking to his mannequin.

The big guy encouraged me with a hand on my arm. It felt like a skip loader.

97

THERE WERE SOME
smokers out in the back, and another big guy at the door checking on those who went out. The big guy at the door nodded at the big guy who was with me. They were probably in the same union.

A minute later McLarty came out and immediately lit a smoke. He seemed nervous. He had an ex-addict look to him. His forearms were a little too thin, sticking out of his striped polo like, well, a couple of thicker stripes.

“So what’s this all about?” he said.

“You want to talk with your man here?” I said.

McLarty thought about it. “Maybe you better let me take this alone.”

The big guy said, “You sure?”

“It’s okay.”

The guy went back to talk with his twin at the door.

“So,” McLarty said to me. “You got my attention. What do you want?”

“Then Tawni rings a real bell with you.”

“I didn’t say anything like that. Who’s Tawni?”

I smiled. “You’re a good actor but not that good.”

He eyed me through a haze of smoke. “I repeat, why am I listening to you?”

“The name Tawni must mean something to get you away from the Crissy for half a second and out here with me.”

McLarty sucked smoke, blew it out fast. “You got something to say to me, let’s hear it.”

“I’m looking for information,” I said. “Here’s what I know. I know you and Tawni were kind of tight for a while.”

“Who’s Tawni?”

“You want me to just go to the blogs with the information I have?”

He waited, then said, “How do you know anything?”

“As they say, I have my sources.”

“What’s it gonna take to get you to the point?” He puffed again.

“You’re still listening, so there’s something there. I’ve never seen your show, by the way, but I hear you’re pretty good in it. I hear you turned your life around. I hear you’ve got a family audience that’s pretty big now. Congratulations.”

“Do I care what you think?”

“Yeah, you do.”

He waited.

“So here it is,” I said. “You knew Tawni back there in your bad old days, knew her pretty well. Or should I say, used her pretty well?”

He threw down his cig and fished for another. Stuck it in his mouth. “Do I need to tell you what you’re full of?”

“Tawni’s dead. Somebody murdered her. She had a kid. Your kid.”

That froze him. The nail in his mouth was shaking a little. “You want money, is that it?”

“How’d we get from murder to money so fast?”

“That’s what it comes down to.”

“I just want to know if you’re the father of the kid, that’s all.”

McLarty looked as if he’d snorted Tabasco. He spun around in a little circle. Like Disco Freddy’s more talented cousin. He shouted a couple of choice words and that got Bodyguard over in a hurry.

“Bax,” McLarty said, “tell this guy I’m not interested and make him understand. Tell him my lawyers are smarter than he is, okay?”

He legged it back to the club.

Bax said, “Mr. McLarty is not interested and his lawyers are smarter than you. Understand?”

“You don’t even know me, Bax. I might be another Einstein.”

“If you were smart, you wouldn’t be here.” He put his ham hand on my shoulder. “Mr. McLarty gets all sorts of grief from people—requests, paparazzi, all that, you know? And he hires me to be kind of like a buffer.”

“You’re a buffer, I’ll give you that.”

“So I’m buffing you, man. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Your boy will want to give me a call.”

“He says no.”

“Ask him if he’d like to have a paternity test done. Ask if he’d like to come to court and tell a judge the story. Because, see, when guys don’t step up to the plate for what they’ve done, you have to haul ’em to court. I hate to do that, I really do.”

“He’s gotten sued before.”

“Not by me.”

“What makes you so special?”

“Bran,” I said. “I eat lots of bran.”

“Hey, I’m into fiber, too.”

Unbelievable.

“A lot of legumes,” he said. “Really like legumes.”

“I never thought I’d be discussing health with Todd McLarty’s bodyguard.”

“Most natural thing in the world,” he said. “You want to stay healthy, stay away from Mr. McLarty.” He poked my chest with his finger. “And eat plenty of cruciferous greens.”

98

I WALKED BACK
to my car thinking about the word “cruciferous” and what Todd McLarty was hiding.

Of course, I had no idea if Kylie was McLarty’s. And maybe I didn’t want to find out. What if he turned around and said he wanted her?

There’s no way I would let that happen.

But if she was his, maybe there was a connection with Reatta’s death.